neighbors in which they asserted that in the center of town was a spring that erupted under Noah’s ark, raising it gradually and causing the flood to begin. The bureau organized a trip to Najaf and Kufa. We went at seven in the morning to the Allawi stop in down-town Baghdad and we rode in one of the Ford intercity cabs. Hilmi Amin and I had each visited both towns previously, but we had not been together. I noticed a large number of tombs covering an expansive stretch of land a few miles before the entrance to Najaf. I said, “Look at all these tombs.”
Hilmi Amin said, “The Shia are buried in Najaf to be close to Imam Ali; as for al-Husayn, he is buried in Karbala.”
“Isn’t al-Husayn buried in Egypt?” I asked.
He said, “Most likely that’s a myth. They say that his friends carried his head and escaped, taking it with them. They said that they carried his body and buried it in Cairo or in Syria or in some secret tomb here in Iraq. But whether he was buried here or buried there, he will always be an eternal symbol for martyrdom.”
“Do you remember the play al-Husayn the Martyr and the problems it created?”
“Of course. Abd al-Rahman al-Sharqawi is my friend. Al-Azhar could not tolerate his vision.”
“We need to get these minds working again.”
“This is exactly what an intellectual should do. He should look at history impartially except for his thoughts and what he believesto be true, not those things imposed on him. In other words, he should use his reason and put it to work.”
We got out of the car. We encountered a small town that looked like all desert towns with its few large houses covered with lead-colored cement paint. We walked downtown on its main commercial street. I saw stores covered with small mirrors cut up in Arabesque geometrical lines. I said, “These are Najafi mirrors.”
“Charming. Let’s go buy some cigarettes first.”
I said, “But these mirrors are used as emblems of what is false or not authentic. When an Iraqi says ‘Najaf’ he means it is not genuine, an imitation. Because the gleaming lights are reflections on the mirrors and are not captured. That’s what I understood.”
He said, “No, it is not because of the mirrors but rather because the people of Najaf during World War II were famous for manufacturing car chassis and spare parts and they called that skill ‘Najafi craft style.’”
We entered a store. I said, “Can I please have a pack of Sumer cigarettes?”
The store owner said, “Are you from Egypt? Home to Abd al-Wahab, Umm Kulthum, and Shawqi?”
I said, “Yes. Do you like artists?”
He said, “Yes. And I mean Ahmad Shawqi.”
I noticed many poems hanging on the wall. I asked, “This is traditional amudi poetry. Who’s the poet?”
He said, “This is real authentic poetry. Poetry is amudi poetry. These are my poems. We are all poets here.”
We took another car to Kufa. We were struck by the Wadi of Khadd al-Adhraa, thirty-five thousand feddans of rice, a green carpet that the eye cannot encompass. I did not expect the history of the world to be awaiting me here in the country, along with such a special mosque. I saw people circumambulating around twelve shrines and praying a predetermined number of prostrations at each. I began with the Sayyidna Ibrahim shrine where according to tradition he used to pray. On a sheet of parchment it said to performfour prostrations. I stood a short distance from the shrine of Sayyidna al-Khidr, who enjoys a special status among Egyptians. Here two prostrations were prescribed. Then I got to Ali ibn Abi Talib’s court, called Bayt al-Qada’. An elderly lady came up to me and asked why I didn’t buy an abaya after she noticed that I had borrowed one from a nearby store that lent out abayas to female visitors. Then I found out that two prostrations were recommended. I did not know beforehand that the Prophet Muhammad had visited Iraq but it was related that when he was taken on his midnight
Hilmi Amin said, “The Shia are buried in Najaf to be close to Imam Ali; as for al-Husayn, he is buried in Karbala.”
“Isn’t al-Husayn buried in Egypt?” I asked.
He said, “Most likely that’s a myth. They say that his friends carried his head and escaped, taking it with them. They said that they carried his body and buried it in Cairo or in Syria or in some secret tomb here in Iraq. But whether he was buried here or buried there, he will always be an eternal symbol for martyrdom.”
“Do you remember the play al-Husayn the Martyr and the problems it created?”
“Of course. Abd al-Rahman al-Sharqawi is my friend. Al-Azhar could not tolerate his vision.”
“We need to get these minds working again.”
“This is exactly what an intellectual should do. He should look at history impartially except for his thoughts and what he believesto be true, not those things imposed on him. In other words, he should use his reason and put it to work.”
We got out of the car. We encountered a small town that looked like all desert towns with its few large houses covered with lead-colored cement paint. We walked downtown on its main commercial street. I saw stores covered with small mirrors cut up in Arabesque geometrical lines. I said, “These are Najafi mirrors.”
“Charming. Let’s go buy some cigarettes first.”
I said, “But these mirrors are used as emblems of what is false or not authentic. When an Iraqi says ‘Najaf’ he means it is not genuine, an imitation. Because the gleaming lights are reflections on the mirrors and are not captured. That’s what I understood.”
He said, “No, it is not because of the mirrors but rather because the people of Najaf during World War II were famous for manufacturing car chassis and spare parts and they called that skill ‘Najafi craft style.’”
We entered a store. I said, “Can I please have a pack of Sumer cigarettes?”
The store owner said, “Are you from Egypt? Home to Abd al-Wahab, Umm Kulthum, and Shawqi?”
I said, “Yes. Do you like artists?”
He said, “Yes. And I mean Ahmad Shawqi.”
I noticed many poems hanging on the wall. I asked, “This is traditional amudi poetry. Who’s the poet?”
He said, “This is real authentic poetry. Poetry is amudi poetry. These are my poems. We are all poets here.”
We took another car to Kufa. We were struck by the Wadi of Khadd al-Adhraa, thirty-five thousand feddans of rice, a green carpet that the eye cannot encompass. I did not expect the history of the world to be awaiting me here in the country, along with such a special mosque. I saw people circumambulating around twelve shrines and praying a predetermined number of prostrations at each. I began with the Sayyidna Ibrahim shrine where according to tradition he used to pray. On a sheet of parchment it said to performfour prostrations. I stood a short distance from the shrine of Sayyidna al-Khidr, who enjoys a special status among Egyptians. Here two prostrations were prescribed. Then I got to Ali ibn Abi Talib’s court, called Bayt al-Qada’. An elderly lady came up to me and asked why I didn’t buy an abaya after she noticed that I had borrowed one from a nearby store that lent out abayas to female visitors. Then I found out that two prostrations were recommended. I did not know beforehand that the Prophet Muhammad had visited Iraq but it was related that when he was taken on his midnight
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